A Second Chance
by Golden Sunflower
Summary: Lizzie is a young widow with two little children. Recovering from her loss has taken time, but she is taking her first steps back into society.
1. Chapter 1

A Second Chance

Chapter 1

Lizzie pulled a curl out of her coiffure, twisting it one way and then the other. Losing patience, she tried to pin it back with little success. Her hands were shaking. She examined her face critically in the mirror. For a recent widow of 28 years she didn't look too hagged. She straightened her skirts, gave up on her hair, and slipped on her dancing slippers. Peeking into the adjoining room, she saw that her son of six years was still awake, tossing. Her baby girl was sleeping peacefully in a ruffled crib.

The children's nurse came forward, "Now you go and enjoy yourself, I'm sure Ben will settle presently."

Lizzie walked towards the little wooden bed and gave Ben a quick cuddle. His eyes were very curious as he took in her raiment. "Mama, you look so pretty. You don't look like my mama."

Lizzie stifled a giggle and held her son gently by his shoulders. "Now Ben, you be good for Nurse Higgins, and tomorrow I will tell you all about the officers I will see tonight. Maybe I will even dance with one."

"Silly Mama. Soldiers don't dance, they ride horses and fight."

"Sometimes they do, but tonight they are dancing at your Aunt and Uncle's ball." Lizzie kissed him and went over to little Sallie. Kissing her fingers, she laid them on her baby's soft cheek. "Sleep well," she whispered.

Downstairs, Mrs. Bennett was bustling about her room, trailing her shawl, and sporting three enormous ostrich feathers on her headdress. "Oh my dear, there you are, I am about ready to leave, but your silly sister has decided her green dress does not become her and nothing would do but to change to her pink one!"

Passing her father's study, Lizzie went in and sat down. Mr. Bennett looked up from the book he was perusing. "Well?"

"Father, Mary has decided to change her dress."

Her father put down his book and said reflectively that since Mr Farrow, a new curate at the church, had come into the town, Mary was taking much more care about her appearance and dress.

"Yes," agreed Lizzie, "and she also seems happier." Grinning conspiratorially at each other, they went to the waiting carriage.

Rocking over the rough road on the way to Netherfield, Lizzie told herself that widows were allowed to go to dances, often went to dances, and sometimes even danced. Since her husband had died in a shocking accident almost three years ago, Lizzie had lost most of her eagerness for dancing. Having been pregnant and the mother of a three year old at the time of her loss had kept her occupied almost constantly, but having to be a mama at the same time as being a grieving widow had slowly helped her recover, and also meant that at no time could she sink wholly into despair. Now spending the summer with her parents, she was ready to take her first careful steps back into society.

"And after all," her mother was saying, "We must ensure that Mary sees as much of Mr. Farrow as we can manage. This seems to be a very good thing, and it would be a shame for anything to happen to ruin it."

Lizzie cast her mind back to her own first love, and then even further, to the first awakening of emotions that were never resolved, painful, and never fully realized. A dark figure with inscrutable eyes hovered at the edge of her consciousness.

Stepping into the ballroom, Lizzie felt a tap on her arm. "Lizzie Braithwaite, I am delighted you have at last put off those widows weeds and stepped out of the nursery."

Lizzie looked up and saw an elegant green gown that surely had cost as much as hers, her mother's, and Mary's combined. "Miss Bingley - I beg your pardon, Mrs. Lafarge - how lovely to see you." Lizzie intoned.

Although they had been family for many years, Lizzie found it hard to act naturally around her brother-in-law's sister. Her consequence and snide behaviour had not diminished with age. Although her looks had, Lizzie noted to herself with a self satisfied feeling. Mrs. Lafarge was determined to act the welcoming friend however, and kept Lizzie busy for some time. While chatting with her old acquaintance, Lizzie felt surprisingly alone. When she had had Tom beside her, everything was a game to be enjoyed, but now it all seemed a bit like a test.

Lizzie missed her husband. His joy and his sense of fun and unending energy. He had bounced into her life a little while after her sister Jane had gotten engaged to Charles Bingley. Fresh from the shock of Lydia's elopement and subsequent marriage - Lizzie still thanked the Lord that her uncle had managed to bring that about - Lizzie had been awash with longing for a man she could never have. He had been a mystery, and then had disappeared from her life abruptly. After that, she had seen him very infrequently and always in company. He was inscrutable, intense, grave, and silent, and thoroughly out of her reach, when Thomas Braithwaite had tumbled into town. Lizzie had happily fallen in love with him after a little persuasion on his part. He was uncomplicated to her complexity, and matched her intelligence with unbounded curiosity about everything. He was easy and sweet and not a very good horseman.

Jane was wearing a pale pink gown, looking beautiful. Having four children in four years had not changed her looks or figure in any discernible way. Her husband Charles was beside her, smiling happily at all his guests.

Having met Jane and complimented her on her gown, Lizzie moved further into the room.

 _(I know some of you may disagree with what I have done here, but I write from my heart, and this is the story it wanted to tell. many thanks to misspseudonymous for the encouragement and editing)_

 _Please comment with any ideas, complaints, or just to say hi :)_


	2. Chapter 2

A Second Chance

Chapter 2

Fitzwilliam Darcy was surprised that his valet, usually so up to the mark, had neglected to lay out his evening shoes. Then he very nearly blushed and ruefully shuffled his feet, shoes absentmindedly having been put on five minutes before.

He didn't often go to balls, although he did make an effort to attend at least some of society's biggest events, and of course hosted Pemberley's Christmas dance every year. When he did attend, it was from an effort to be a gentleman, not to disoblige his host, or to ensure that he not hurt a lady's feelings, rather than an expression of his natural inclination.

He closed his door gently and stepped into the long corridor on the upper story of Netherfield. It was quite a walk to the ballroom.

He remembered when he had first seen her, and dismissed her so flippantly, and then how her charms had built up against him, and how he had fallen for her. He skipped over how he had so thoroughly mistaken her feelings, and how she had set him straight. He had written her a letter then, and gone home to Pemberley, and thought about what she had told him. He had looked into his soul, and had found himself lacking. At first from a reaction to her fury, and then from a growing understanding of how much happiness he was giving his sister, and finally from a deep knowledge and self-understanding and joy, he had changed the way he related to others and the way he treated them. He strived to be a better person and to treat all with respect.

It had been seven years since he had been in this part of the world, seven years in which scarcely a day had gone by when he hadn't thought of her. First with mingling passion and hurt, then with shock and a deep sense of loss at her marriage. In the intervening years his thoughts had quietened somewhat, but she was the standard against which he unknowingly measured all females. When his friend Charles Bingley carelessly dropped a piece of information about her, he surreptitiously drank it in and subtly squeezed him for more. He had heard of her first child, a son, and years of domestic felicity. He at least could be happy she was happy, even though his heart burned when he thought of what might have been. He spent many nights tossing, and upon waking, realized he had dreamt of her again. He buried himself in his books, his work, and spent long stretches of time with his sister. He was happy and fulfilled, but with a very real feeling that there was something missing from his life. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried; he had looked at the young ladies presented to him, but there was something lacking. Their eyes lacked spirit, and he found their pleasing conversation insipid. He found himself perfunctorily requesting the honour of a dance with this young lady, or that young miss, but he could never summon up more interest than kind civility. There had been a dashing young widow with flashing eyes who had roused his interest for a short while, but she seemed like the wind-up nightingale in the fairy tale, all glistening gems and sparkle but no natural music at all. He had struggled against the cards that had been dealt him, and had often thought he would never marry. How could he think of marrying when behind every fan he imagined he would see her, and every glossy head brought her image to mind. He wouldn't take a young innocent to wife whilst so deeply in love with another.

Then came her husband's shocking death, and another birth, and now he was going to see her. He had kept away, wanting to save himself the unrelenting pain of seeing her when he could not have her. He remembered her sister's wedding, him fresh with the recent knowledge of a third sister's unaccountable marriage. The temporary confusion that had afforded him, and the clenching frustration it had happened at all, had made him unable to talk to Elizabeth at all, and beyond a slight softening of her manner towards him, no doubt accorded by the letter he had written, it had been a wasted opportunity. He didn't know that the next time he would see her she would be engaged to another. He felt much more unsure than he could remember In his 34 years. He had never minded so much before what a woman would think of him. But he wanted to please her. Very very much. He wondered if she was much changed from the girl he had once known so briefly. Then he chided himself, that was a lifetime ago. That short amount of time seven years ago had meant everything to him. He wasn't sure it meant anything to her at all.

His old shyness threatened to overcome him as, hesitating, he stepped into the ballroom.

Shaking Charles' hand and grasping him by the shoulder gave him something to do with his hands.

"Mr. Darcy, we are so pleased you managed to join us."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the encouragement, ideas, and questions I have received. I take everything on board and am so grateful for all the interest. I hope this chapter will answer some of the questions and issues raised. Enjoy! And let me know what you think._


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